


sanctuary

by foundCarcosa



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7013584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will takes Matthew home for the first time. Fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sanctuary

“Come to Wolf Trap with me.”

Nothing Will Graham ever said was said glibly; minutes or hours of thought supported sentences that took seconds to utter. Sometimes he spoke haltingly, as if the words he’d so carefully deliberated over were weighing down his tongue, and this is how he spoke these six words to Matthew, hands shoved deep into his pockets, eyes darting up to gauge Matthew’s reaction before flicking away again. There is an endearing quality to the hunch of his shoulders, the shift of his feet. _Vulnerability,_ Matthew remembers; _this is what vulnerability looks like._

“Is that what you want?” Matthew’s steps are soundless as he approaches. His hands cup Will’s elbows, slip up his flannel-covered arms, frame his endearingly-hunched shoulders. He tilts his head, regarding Will, smiling. “You want me in your home? In your sanctuary?”

Will ducks his head, dark curls tumbling into his face and hiding it from Matthew’s idolatrous gaze, but he leans into Matthew’s body, his hair brushing the orderly’s clean-shaved jaw, and Matthew’s smile grows, permitting a flash of teeth before his expression settles into its normal idly-bemused cast.

Nothing Will Graham said was ever said glibly, and sometimes he spoke without words, in the tilt of his body or the speeding of his pulse, and in the shuddering of Will’s breath and the faltering but hungry hands slipping around his waist, he heard, _you are sanctuary, too._

\--

Wolf Trap is obscenely quiet, winding roads framed by looming arboreal sentinels, flashes of leaping deer bodies, a house every mile or so. Matthew thinks of his apartment, the press of human lives on every side of him, chaotic and transient, sucking at him, clawing at the stillness he cultivated so diligently within himself. He thinks about how Will trembled beneath the onslaught of unchecked emotions and vibrations, but grew still and quiet and grateful in Matthew’s arms.

He thinks, _I am to Will what Wolf Trap is to Will. And more. I am his living home._  
And he smiles against the backs of his fingers, watching the trees rush by the car window.

\--

The dogs swarm around Matthew, inquisitive, seeking. Matthew observes them for a moment as Will hauls in the last bag of groceries, then holds his hand out for the scruffy, intelligent-eyed one to sniff. _Guardian,_ Matthew understood, watching this quiet dignified animal sniff him delicately but thoroughly, before giving a single small lick.

“And who might you be?” Matthew asks, smiling.

Will turns. “That’s Winston.” Offers Matthew a beer. “He likes you. They all do.”

“What would you have done if they didn’t like me?” His mouth smiles, but his eyes hold Will’s.

“Taken you back to Baltimore,” Will responds, quietly but surely. A beat passes, and Matthew is granted the flicker of pain that passes through Will’s eyes at the thought.

\--

Will curves his hands around the almost-empty cup of tea – no whiskey, not tonight – and closes his eyes as he takes the last long sip. The house is still. The shadows do not curve into antler shapes; the walls do not whisper. His heart is steady, his skin warm and not clammy.

Perhaps he will even sleep tonight.

In the living room, Matthew reclines on the couch, his hand dangling over the seat’s arm, his head tilted back against the cushion. His eyes are closed, his breathing even and deep. The pug curls up between his spread knees, a terrier resting his head on Matthew’s foot. Winston sits next to him on the couch, yawning widely before lazily licking his snout. He looks up at Will, somberly, as Will approaches.

“What do you say, boy? Better than Hannibal?” Will asks Winston softly, a flicker of a smile touching his lips.

“‘Course I am,” Matthew murmurs drowsily, and Will starts in surprise, heat blooming in his cheeks. “Sit with me.”

Matthew shifts as Will sits, shifts so his body reclines against Will, his head nestling into the soft hollow between shoulder and chest. The dogs trot away, affronted at the disturbance, but Winston stays.

“I always knew you had a nice home.” Matthew’s hand curves around Will’s knee, squeezing lightly. “I came here. In my dreams. I came here, and killed the antler man. For you.”

Will inhales, imagining, imagining Matthew’s hands covered in the blood that he’d so wished him to spill, imagines him looming over the Wendigo’s body like an angel of reckoning, but it is not the sharp, piquant exultation of a killer that Will feels, but a heart-swelling fondness, a gratefulness, a gentle but encompassing wave of emotion that makes him curve his arms around Matthew and bury his face in the man’s short, dark hair.

 _There is more than one way to kill a monster,_ Will thinks, as Matthew squeezes his knee again and smiles against his chest.


End file.
